Aidan Kerry's Conundrum
Patrolman Aidan Kerry's eyes flew open when he heard the jarring sound of his alarm clock at 5:30 a.m. He reached his hand out and silenced the annoying buzzing before it woke his wife who was sleeping peacefully beside him. After a quick stop at the bathroom, he walked downstairs and into the kitchen. As was his daily routine, he put a fresh K-cup into the Keurig coffeemaker and two pieces of whole wheat bread into the toaster. By the time he took the sugar bowl out of the cabinet and the low-cholesterol spread and two-percent milk out of the refrigerator, his coffee and toast were ready.
As he sat alone at the kitchen table, consuming what most motels referred to as a "continental breakfast," Aidan remembered when he and Elaine were first married. His wife would wake up before he did and prepare him a full meal of eggs, bacon or sausage, toast, potatoes, orange juice and freshly brewed coffee. On weekends, when she did not have to work, it would be either French toast or pancakes—occasionally an omelet—and on special occasions eggs Benedict.
We were so happy then, he thought wistfully. We had such high hopes for the future.
The husband and wife still loved one another. There had never been any serious arguments, no unforgivably harsh words ever passed between them and neither partner had ever been unfaithful. It was the harshness of life that was slowly eroding their happiness. After two miscarriages, Elaine had to have a hysterectomy. The childless couple considered both adoption and surrogacy, but the cost involved with both was prohibitive. Neither a police officer nor a receptionist made much money.
After a quick shower, Aidan put on his uniform. While buttoning his shirt, he looked down at his sleeping wife. She was so beautiful! He would do just about anything to make her happy.
Glancing at his alarm clock beside the bed, he thought, I better get going before I'm late.
Then he leaned over and softly kissed her on the forehead.
As he reached for the knob on the front door, he heard the upstairs toilet flush and knew that Elaine had gotten out of bed.
"I'm going," he called up to the second floor. "I'll see you tonight. Love you."
He did not wait for her reply.
* * *
Mark Swinton stripped off his clothes, knelt on the cold tile of the bathroom floor and flogged his naked back with a makeshift cat o' nine tails. During his self-flagellation, he recited from the gospel of St. Matthew.
"When the Son of Man shall come in His glory and all the holy angels with Him, then shall He sit upon the throne of His glory. And before Him shall be gathered all nations, and He shall separate them one from another as a shepherd divideth his sheep from the goats. And He shall set the sheep on His right hand, but the goats on the left. Then shall the King say unto them on His right hand, 'Come, ye blessed of My Father, inherit the Kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world.'"
Shaken and weak from having fasted for three days, Mark unsteadily rose to his feet. After shaving his face, head and chest with a straight edge razor, he got into the shower and turned the water to the hottest setting. He winced with pain as the water beat down on his flayed back.
"Then shall He say also unto them on the left hand," he continued, frantically scrubbing his skin with strong soap and steel wool. "'Depart from me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire prepared for the devil and his angels."
Only once he felt completely cleansed, both physically and morally, did he turn the tap to the coldest position. For close to ten minutes, he stood shivering in the shower before turning off the water and toweling himself off. Not wanting to contaminate his body with chemicals, he put on neither deodorant nor cologne. The clothes he donned were simple: plain white cotton pants and a matching pullover shirt, with no underwear beneath. On his feet he wore a pair of basic sandals.
Other than an assortment of throw pillows scattered on the floor, there was only one piece of furniture in his Spartan apartment: a coffee table from IKEA that he used as an altar. A three-foot-high brass crucifix hanging on the wall above the table dominated the room. As a sign of reverence, Mark fell to his knees before the cross. He picked up a communion wafer, broke it in two, and placed one half in a glass of wine.
"May this commingling and consecration of the Body and Blood of our Lord Jesus Christ obtain for all who receive it eternal life." After placing the other half of the host in his mouth, he added, "May the Body of our Lord Jesus Christ keep my soul unto life everlasting."
Lastly, he drank the wine.
"May the Blood of our Lord Jesus Christ preserve my soul to life everlasting. Amen."
I'm ready, Mark thought.
Then he went to the coat closet beside the front door and took out an AK-47 assault rifle.
* * *
Trina Gabler had a lot on her mind when she punched into work at the Baby Boutique on Tuesday afternoon. She had a paper due for her psychology class on Thursday, a mid-term exam in history on Friday and a blind date with her roommate's brother on Saturday night. When she took over the register, the other cashier, a single mother of two, clocked out and went home.
I wish I was leaving, she thought; but there was a six-hour shift ahead of her.
Tuesdays were normally slow, but that day there were more than a dozen shoppers in the store. One woman stood out from the others. Most new and expectant mothers came into the shop with a smile on their faces. Even people looking for baby shower gifts did so with a pleasant countenance. There was always a chorus of comments such as "Oh, how cute!" and "Isn't this adorable?"
The dark-haired customer in the red maternity dress, however, was stone-faced as she put newborn-sized undershirts, baby powder, pacifiers and booties into her shopping basket. Her expression did not change when she moved to the clothing rack. She took no time choosing from a large assortment of onesies. In fact, the pregnant woman seemed not to notice if she was selecting a girl's Disney princess outfit or a baseball uniform for a boy.
Trina was about to ask the mother-to-be if she was feeling ill when a customer stepped up to the register with two baskets full of merchandise.
"This is for my first grandchild!" the beaming middle-aged woman said as she piled crib sheets, blankets and disposable diapers onto the check-out counter.
Just as the soon-to-be grandmother took her Visa card out of her wallet, a man in plain white cotton pants and shirt walked through the door. Trina froze when she saw he was carrying an assault rifle. Moments later he shot the security camera above the register. Women screamed. Some ran toward the door, while others tried to hide behind baby furniture and display cases.
The bald, wild-eyed gunman, in a proper shooting stance with his rifle snug against his shoulder, shouted above the pandemonium.
"Those that sit at the Son of Man's right hand have nothing to fear from me."
When he sprayed a shelf of teddy bears with bullets, Trina ducked down behind the check-out counter. From her crouched position, the trembling cashier had a limited view of the sales floor. What she could see quite clearly, though, was the unsmiling pregnant woman in the red maternity dress. Incredibly, there was still no sign of emotion on her face.
How can she not be terrified? Trina wondered.
"It is the cursed, those who sit at the Son of Man's left hand, who will know my wrath," the gunman concluded.
A moment later, the impassive customer in red fell to the floor, her body riddled with bullets.
* * *
Aidan Kerry was driving his patrol car down Main Street, wondering what to buy Elaine for their tenth wedding anniversary. It was only two weeks away, and he had yet to think of an appropriate gift. Jewelry and perfume were usually given for Christmas and birthday presents. Anniversaries meant romantic dinners, flowers or boxes of candy. Given his wife's melancholy, this year he wanted to do something different; but what?
The patrolman was still debating whether to treat Elaine to dinner and a movie or buy her an inexpensive digital camera when the police dispatcher announced that shots were heard in the vicinity of the Baby Boutique. Since he was only a block away, Aidan pulled his car to the side of the road, got out of the vehicle and drew his gun.
As he neared the shop, he heard gunfire and women's screams. Moments later, the sound of police sirens in the distance joined in the din. Not waiting for backup to arrive, he crouched down and looked through the store window. The only person he saw was a bald man, dressed in white, holding an AK-47. Aidan took a deep breath and burst through the door.
"Drop your weapon!" he shouted, his service revolver pointed at the gunman's head.
Mark Swinton turned toward the police officer and cried, "The one who does what is sinful is of the devil because the devil has been sinning from the beginning. The reason the Son of God appeared was to destroy the devil's work."
Aidan, who only ever went inside churches to attend weddings and funerals, was not familiar with Bible verses, nor did he care about the killer's religious beliefs. His only thought was to subdue the shooter.
"I said drop your weapon!" he repeated.
When the gunman raised his assault rifle and pointed it toward the backup officers approaching the entrance of the Baby Boutique, Aidan fired.
* * *
Harlan Denner was having a cup of coffee in the doctors' lounge after having worked ten hours of his sixteen-hour shift. He had managed to take a forty-minute nap two hours earlier, but then all hell broke loose in the emergency room. A three-car collision resulted in ten people being brought in for treatment. Thankfully, there were no fatalities, and all but one were treated and released.
As he sipped the hot cafeteria coffee, his thoughts went to his fiancée. Although he had come from an upper middle class family and never known poverty, he would soon marry into a family with "old money." When he did, he would quit working for the hospital and go into private practice. Not only would he have more reasonable hours as his own boss, but the money was better, as well. He envisioned spending his days off on a golf course or on a sailboat, and a smile came to his lips.
His pleasant reveries were interrupted by the hospital public address system: Dr. Denner to emergency room. STAT.
Harlan quickly drained the last of his coffee, frowned at the bitter taste and hurried back to work.
"What is it?" the doctor asked Nurse Octavia Banting.
"There's been a shooting at the Baby Boutique. One woman is in critical condition. The EMTs on the scene estimate she's eight months pregnant. They're bringing her in now."
"Better contact the obstetrician and pediatrician on call."
"I've already done that."
Five minutes later the EMTs rushed the shooting victim into the emergency room on a gurney. Nurse Banting cut her clothes off with a scissor, and Nurse Mary Fiedler washed the blood away.
"I count five entry wounds so far," Nurse Fiedler declared.
"I can't get a heartbeat," her colleague said gravely. "And her blood pressure is practically nonexistent."
Despite the best efforts of the emergency room personnel, the expectant mother in the red maternity dress was declared dead. Dr. Denner immediately called for a fetal heart monitor.
"We've got a heartbeat," Mary Fiedler announced, "but I don't know for how long."
"We can't wait for the obstetrician to arrive. Get her into the O.R. now. I'm going to try to save the child."
As Harlan Denner was in the operating room performing a caesarean section on the dead woman, Octavia Banting went to the waiting room to talk with Officer Aidan Kerry, who had accompanied the shooting victim to the hospital.
"How is she?" he asked anxiously.
"I'm afraid we lost her," the nurse replied. "The doctor is trying to save the baby's life. Has anyone notified the next of kin?"
"Not yet. She had no identification on her. I checked her handbag and wallet, but there was no driver's license, no credit cards—nothing but cash."
"Right now, the baby is in good hands. Dr. Denner is an excellent physician, and at eight months the child has a good chance of survival. Why don't you see if you can find out who the father is?"
* * *
For Aidan Kerry, the next several weeks were surreal. The media circus brought about by the shooting focused not only on the deceased gunman, who to everyone's surprise was a Catholic priest once assigned to the Vatican, but also on the brave police officer who singlehandedly took him down.
"You're a hero!" Elaine exclaimed as she and her husband watched his taped interview with Anderson Cooper on CNN.
"I was just doing my job. Any one of the other men on the force would have done the same thing. I just happened to be nearer to the Baby Boutique than they were."
"You're being modest."
"No, I'm being honest."
When the televised interview came to an end, a photograph of the victim—believed by authorities to be an illegal alien—was shown on the air. Viewers were asked for help in identifying her. For five days that appeal was made. As yet, no one had come forward.
"Someone must recognize her!" Elaine declared.
"No one has so far. Her picture has appeared in just about every newspaper across the country, on social media and on local, network and cable news broadcasts. The FBI ran her fingerprints and DNA through CODIS and NDIS, but they couldn't find any matches. Then they tried to find the father by using the baby's DNA. Again, nothing. Hell, INTERPOL even searched their databases. It's weird! It's as though she never existed."
Three days later Aidan was called into the police commissioner's office. He correctly assumed the reason for the summons was related to the Baby Boutique shooting.
"Officer Kerry," the commissioner said, rising from his seat to shake the patrolman's hand. "Let me congratulate you on a fine piece of police work."
"Thank you, sir."
"No, it's I who want to thank you. I'm happy to inform you that the mayor is going to present you with a special commendation."
"There's no need ...."
"Kerry, I don't have to tell you that since the Black Lives Matter movement began public opinion of the nation's law enforcement agencies is at an all-time low. And although we've never had any African Americans killed by men on our force, we must bear the stigma created by others. It's important we show the citizens of our city that police officers are not the bad guys."
"What about the baby?" Aidan asked. "What's going to become of it if the mother remains a Jane Doe and the father isn't found?"
"Right now he's in foster care, but in another week or so, he'll be sent to the state orphanage. I've no doubt they'll find a good home for him."
"I'd like to adopt him, sir," Aidan said, forcing himself to appear calm in front of his superior officer.
"You?" the commissioner cried with disbelief.
"My wife and I have always wanted a child, sir."
The look on the other man's face suddenly changed as he considered the possible public reaction. He imagined the headlines: HERO COP ADOPTS SHOOTING VICTIM'S ORPHANED INFANT.
What a PR coup that would be! he thought.
"Let me speak to the mayor and council," the commissioner told Aidan. "I'll see if they can work out something with Child Protective Services."
* * *
The smile on Elaine's face when her husband told her the good news was absolutely radiant.
"We won't have to give him up if they eventually locate the father, will we?"
"Once the adoption is finalized, he'll be all ours," Aidan assured her.
The owners of the Baby Boutique, grateful that Officer Kerry's actions limited the body count to only two (one of whom was the gunman himself), donated a crib and matching changing table to the couple. Several of the customers who had been inside the shop at the time of the shooting also sent gifts to the man who quite probably saved their lives.
"We have got everything we need except for formula," Elaine announced as she folded baby outfits and placed them inside the dresser. "All we need now is the baby."
"Be patient, honey. You know the red tape involved with adoptions. The social worker assured me we'd have him by the end of the month."
A week later Officer Kerry brought the child home with him.
"He's so beautiful!" Elaine cried, tears of joy falling down her cheeks when the infant was placed in her arms.
The baby was named Daniel, after Elaine's late father. Since neither Aidan nor his wife held any religious beliefs, there was to be no christening. Despite being born prematurely, Daniel was a healthy child—and a well-behaved one. He never woke his parents, crying to be fed or changed; he slept through the night like a—well, like a baby.
"What a good boy," the new mother bragged. "I have yet to hear him cry."
"Isn't that rather unusual?" Aidan asked.
Elaine noted a hint of concern in her husband's voice.
"Are you suggesting there's something wrong with our son?"
"No, not exactly. Well, I hope not."
"He's been examined and given a clean bill of health."
"You're right, honey. Just chalk my fears up to being a new dad."
As the weeks passed, however, Aidan noticed more instances of his son's bizarre behavior. For one thing, the child seemed to pay attention whenever he or Elaine spoke to him. Not only did his head turn toward the sound of their voices, but it seemed as if he understood what they were saying.
I'm being ridiculous, he thought. He's a baby, for Christ's sake.
* * *
Trina Gabler was putting stock out in the Baby Boutique, thankful that things had finally quieted down after the shooting. It had been several days since the last of the ghoulish rubberneckers had come in to view the crime scene. With the bullet holes in the ceiling and on the teddy bear shelf spackled and painted over, the security camera replaced and the bloodstains scrubbed from the floor, there was nothing left to see.
At the sound of the bell ringing above the door, she raised her head, surprised to see Patrolman Aidan Kerry enter the shop.
"Officer!" she said, immediately recognizing him.
"How have you been?" he asked.
"Fine—thanks to you. I saw on the news that you and your wife adopted that poor woman's child."
"Yes, we did. That's why I'm here. I wanted to look at your Baby Einstein activity sets."
"They're right over there. Let me know if you need any help."
"While I'm here, do you mind if I ask you a few questions about the gunman."
"No," she replied after a brief hesitation. "Go ahead and ask."
After she went over in great detail her recollection of the day's events, from the moment she first saw Mark Swinton enter the boutique until Aidan shot him dead, a pensive look appeared on the cashier's face.
"It's funny," she concluded. "But the shooting didn't seem random."
"What do you mean?"
"It was as though he came into the store looking for a specific victim."
"You think he targeted the unknown pregnant woman?"
"I'm not sure. I just think it's odd that he could have mowed everyone in the store down with his weapon, but he didn't. He took aim at the woman in the red dress and fired at her."
* * *
After going off duty, Aidan Kerry drove to a small family-run diner on the outskirts of town. During peak hours of breakfast, lunch and dinner, the diner did a thriving business; however, at ten o'clock on a Monday night, the place was practically empty. When the police officer entered the building, he saw a lone man sitting in a booth on the far side of the room.
"Thanks for coming to see me," he said as he took a seat opposite Dr. Harlan Denner.
"I was wondering when you'd get around to calling me."
"I tried to reach you at the hospital, but they told me you'd resigned. Going into private practice, I assume."
"No," the doctor confessed. "Actually, I've volunteered to work for a missionary in Africa."
Aidan raised his eyebrows in surprise.
"Weren't you about to be married?"
"I had a change of plans."
Having no desire to pry into the doctor's personal life, the patrolman decided to get to the point of their meeting.
"I was wondering if there were any ... unusual circumstances ... of my son's birth."
There was no humor in the doctor's short burst of laughter.
"Up until that woman was brought into the emergency room I was a confirmed atheist. Now, this statement must seem like a complete non sequitur, but allow me to explain. I grew up putting my faith in science, not fairy tales."
"I'm not a religious man either," Aidan said. "I've seen too much shit in my life to believe in a benevolent father figure watching over us."
"Then I've no doubt you'll be surprised by what I have to tell you. The woman that was brought into the emergency room was dead before the gunman shot her."
"You're mistaken," Aidan argued. "The cashier told me she saw the woman shopping before Swinton entered the boutique."
"When I had the patient in the operating room, I clearly recognized the almond odor of cyanide. My initial reaction was that the gunman dipped his bullets in cyanide. Once the baby was born, I took a tissue sample from the mother and sent it to the lab for analysis. The level of poison in her system was far greater than bullets could deliver. In fact, no one could survive very long with that amount of cyanide in her body."
"I don't follow you. Are you saying she ingested poison before she went into the Baby Boutique?"
"Do you remember the Hallelujah Cult?"
"The name sounds familiar."
"They weren't quite the Manson Family, but they were far from upstanding citizens. Back in the Eighties they took a page out of Jim Jones's book. All eighteen members committed suicide by swallowing cyanide laced Coca-Cola."
"And you think my son's mother was inspired by this group to take her own life?"
"Not exactly. I'm saying she was a member of the Hallelujah Cult and killed herself back in 1985."
"What do you take me for, Doctor?"
Denner reached into his jacket pocket and took out an old newspaper clipping.
"Following the Hallelujah Cult suicides, the Times published pictures of the dead cult members. Take a look at the third photograph from the right."
The doctor called attention to a high school photograph of a young woman named Deborah Tallant. Her resemblance to Swinton's victim was uncanny.
"It can't be her," the patrolman insisted.
"It is. I went to St. Joseph's Hospital and examined the 1985 records. I saw photographs taken after her suicide and read the autopsy report. I have no doubt at all the woman I operated on was Deborah Tallant. I have no idea what happened to her remains after her suicide, but I can tell you she wasn't pregnant when she died. As for the—for lack of a better word—zombie's fetus ...."
"You're talking about my son!" Aidan cried with indignation.
"He's no son of yours," the doctor reminded him gently. "Look, Officer Kerry, I don't know who or what the boy's father was, but I do know his mother has been dead for over thirty years."
* * *
As Aidan drove home from the diner, he tried to make sense of the incredible tale the doctor had told him. He was not sure he believed any of it, but he was certain Harlan Denner did. Why else would he be willing to throw away a promising future and devote his life to the service of God?
And what of Father Mark Swinton? he wondered. Trina Gabler said he seemed to deliberately target his victim. Was the priest on some holy mission to destroy the woman and her child, perhaps on behalf of the Vatican itself?
He recalled movies such as Rosemary's Baby and The Omen. Might Daniel be the spawn of the devil?
I've always known the difference between right and wrong. And I've never been uncertain about what actions to take.
Now, however, he was faced with a devastating conundrum. Should he tell his wife that the child they wanted to raise may not be a normal human baby? That it might, in fact, be the progeny of a supernatural being who could raise the dead and a suicide cult member?
When he walked through the front door, he saw Elaine in the rocking chair, singing a lullaby to Daniel: "Sleepyhead, close your eyes, for I'm right beside you. Guardian angels are near, so sleep without fear."
Her face, filled with love, looked almost angelic. Although sound asleep, the baby held her finger tightly in his tiny fist.
Could such an innocent-looking child be evil? he wondered.
If so, the truth would destroy his wife.
What if I don't tell her, and the baby turns out to be some kind of a demon?
A sudden stab of hope struck him.
And what if he doesn't? Maybe Elaine and I can raise him to be a decent, law-abiding person. Maybe we can give Daniel a normal life regardless of the circumstances of his birth.
Elaine noticed her husband was home and stopped singing.
"Do you want to kiss the baby goodnight before I put him up in his crib?" she asked.
Aidan kissed Daniel on the forehead and then kissed his wife on the lips.
"I've been giving the matter a great deal of thought," he announced, "and I really want our son to be christened."
"Really?" his wife asked. "But I thought you weren't a religious man?"
"I guess little Daniel here has changed my mind."
Salem's idea of a conundrum is having to choose between milk and dark chocolate.
